


Tell Me It's Not Over

by LZlola



Series: Begin Again (This Is How It Always Starts Universe) [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LZlola/pseuds/LZlola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s still not sure what he’s doing here, what he expected when he charmed and persuaded one of the more gullible hotel maids to let him into Seth’s room. Was he looking for a good fight, a good f--- or a goodbye?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me It's Not Over

**Author's Note:**

> This story is technically supposed to take place sometime between _This is How It Always Starts_ and _The Lies We Tell Ourselves_ , but I wrote it out of order so sorry if there’s any confusion. I don't think it matters much. The correct order of all these fics will be updated on this series’ page once I figure it out.

Dean’s breathing is still a little unsteady, his mouth parched, his hands still shaking, when he hears the distinctive beep of a keycard sliding through the reader.

He’s still not sure what he’s doing here, what he expected when he charmed and persuaded one of the more gullible hotel maids to let him into Seth’s room. Was he looking for a good fight, a good fuck or a goodbye?

Seth doesn’t immediately notice him. Dean's eyes adjust to the bathroom light opening, and Seth takes his time taking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket before he ever glances into the mirror to notice Dean sitting soundlessly on the bed.

“Jesus Christ, Dean!” Seth practically jumps. Seth then lowers his voice down to halfway between a hiss and a whisper, as if he doesn’t want people in the next room to know someone’s here, “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Dean’s motionless, his fingers digging into the springs of the sides of the mattress, his eyes downcast as he stares blankly at the dark green carpeting.

He doesn't know how to start this conversation. It would be much simpler if he didn't.

“How did you even find my room?” Seth asks. His hands are in front of him, defensive as if he's ready for Dean to strike.

“’S not important,” is all he says.

“Are you drunk?” Seth accuses, judgment obvious in his tone.

Dean shakes his head, but doesn't bother to look Seth in the eye. “Only had a few. I’m not drunk.”

“Then what the fuck makes you think that I want you here?”

Just being Dean used to be enough. His partner, his friend, his lover, _his_.

“Dean, get out of here,” Seth repeats. “Before I call the cops.”

He's bluffing. Seth doesn't do anything anymore without permission from Triple H or Stephanie, and calling them at this hour would more likely yield displeasure and exasperation rather than approval.

“Why? Don’t enjoy my company anymore?” Dean drawls it out, puts a little dramatic emphasis on a few syllables to make it sound playful, but it comes out like decidedly spiteful instead.

Seth doesn't flinch and instead relaxes his shoulders slightly at the understanding now that this visit isn't going to turn violent. “Are you that dense? Have my beatings really given you that much brain damage?”

Dean hums and looks up at Seth suddenly, who crosses his arms over his chest and takes a step back at the movement. He knows what he must look like to Seth right now. Bloodshot eyes, matted hair, self-inflicted bruises and scrapes all over his shaking body and twitching hands. He doesn't blame Seth if he thought the worst of him right now, doesn't know why he never did all those years before. He never considered it then, but maybe it was because Seth was just as terrible as he was.

There’s a long pause, just the distinct tapping of Seth’s foot on the carpet filling the room, when Dean releases his grip from the bed. Seth gets this pleased, hopeful look in his eyes that signifies that he thinks that Dean is going to get up and leave.

But that’s the last thing that's on Dean's mind. He didn't come here just to back off that easily.

He stares into Seth's eyes and with a viciousness, a disgust and bitterness that have been gnawing at his insides since he saw the two of them together earlier during Smackdown, his voice breaks the silence.

“Are you expecting _him_?”

If Seth is surprised at the soberness of his voice, the quiet venom in his voice when he says it, he doesn’t show it much.

Seth has to know who Dean is talking about. He’s the reason why Dean’s here, why Dean had to see Seth, talk to him.

“You can say his name, you know. It’s Kevin.”

There’s a glint in his eyes and a smugness in Seth's smile, and Dean wonders how he ever fell in love with someone so full of himself, so heartless, so fucking insufferable. Maybe Seth was always this way and Dean was just too desperate to care.

He clenches his fists to stop them from shaking. It doesn’t help much. His anger is spilling out, his jealousy. It frustrates him to no end – the fact that Seth can still affect him this way and the fact that he probably always will.

And the fact that Seth would use that against him.

He releases his white-knuckle hold of the bed sheets and pushes himself off the bed to meet Seth at eye-level. Dean sucks in a breath, stalls instead of taking the bait. “Shouldn’t trust him.”

Seth isn't fazed and just tilts his head. “What? Are you worried about me or something now?” A couple of years ago, this would've sounded like innocent teasing, but now Seth's just mocking him, mocking _them_ , and it just feels like a kick to his stomach.

“Nah…” Dean ignores the bile in his throat in favor of dancing around the issue. “I’m just spit-balling here, but it’s interesting that all of a sudden, after Owens loses the U.S. title, he seems to be interested in you all of a sudden.”

Seth pauses, a little startled at the suggestion.

“You know, sleeping with the enemy and all that.” Dean pushes. Games are simple; Dean can do simple.

“Yeah, I get it,” Seth snaps.

“What? Hadn’t thought about it?” Dean lets out a derisive laugh and raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you always supposed to be two steps ahead of everyone else?”

“There’s no way-”

“Isn't that right up your alley – getting close to people only to stab them in the back? ‘S not much of a prizefighter without a prize…”

“Cut the bullshit, Ambrose. What’s your angle here, huh?”

“Back to ‘Ambrose’ again, huh?” Dean can't help but smirk. “I would just watch my championship, is all.”

Seth purses his lips before he starts laughing suddenly, the noise grating Dean's ears. It sounds too eager and obnoxious to Dean and he just raises his chin in response.

“I know what this is about,” Seth starts, shaking his head with a smile. “And it’s actually quite sad honestly. You still hung up on something that never really was. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Dean scoffs. There’s no use in correcting Seth’s warped memory of their relationship anymore. Seth’s just bullshitting himself and he _knows_ it. “You mean like pretending that he’s not just a replacement for me?”

“Yeah, because you and Kevin are so similar,” Seth says, rolling his eyes, moving towards the window, distancing himself from Dean, away from this conversation probably.

Dean doesn't take much stock into Seth's retort. “Yeah, well Orton couldn’t stand you now, could he?”

Seth turns his head over his shoulder and shoots him an amused look. “You were always the funny one of the group.”

“And you were always the two-faced liar.”

Seth just casually props his elbows on the windowsill and leans back slightly, half-smiling at Dean, not bothering to counter the claim.

Dean fleetingly thinks that if this were any other time, Seth might be trying to tempt him – seduce him – with that stance, with his silhouette illuminated by the streetlights below, his smile softened by the moonlight, and the bed the only thing separating their bodies.

But he's not – Dean knows he's not – and yet, Dean finds himself stumbling off-balanced towards his figure anyway, almost tripping on an open suitcase in the process, trying to chase after someone he used to know, something they used to be.

“How much _did_ you drink?” The air in the dimly-lit room suddenly changes and even if Seth doesn't move to help him, the look in Seth's eyes changes – if even for a second – into one of concern.

“Told you I’m not drunk,” he says again, steadying himself. His voice is hoarser than before and Dean doesn't want to show weakness, but he can't seem to help it. “You know better than anyone that my head’s clearer when I’ve got a few beers in me.”

Seth doesn’t refute his statement and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for Dean to say more, maybe to come closer.

“Your shit is just all over the place. Since when did you like wearing sweatshirts?” Dean continues offhandedly, until he's standing across from Seth.

He notices a brief hesitation before Seth replies, “They’re...not mine.”

“They’re not yours,” Dean repeats, quieter as he nods along. He looks around the room for the first time and notices that there’s another suitcase – one with a Progenex emblem and an ADTR band logo emblazoned on the front pocket – in the corner across the room. “You two sharing a room?” Dean asks as flatly as his voice will allow.

He knows it shouldn't matter – Seth has the right to do whatever he wants to whomever he wants.

But it does matter to Dean. And given Seth's hesitant answers, the stillness in the room, it's obvious that he's not completely alone.

Seth shifts under Dean's gaze. “Yeah,” is the only thing he says, as if he doesn’t know how to explain any of it. The lack of response kind of relieves Dean honestly.

“Didn't know you two were fucking.”

Seth's lips twitch and Dean can practically hear Seth scrambling to find an escape route for this conversation. They've put it off for so long, pretended that there was nothing to talk about between them, pretended that nothing was still there.

“Dean, you need to-”

Dean cuts him off before Seth can tell him to leave again, before he can slither his way out of this like usual, “I saw you two tonight. In one of the storage rooms, sitting together, all cozy and shit. It was disgusting.”

A few seconds of silence pass as Seth tries to figure out how to respond and Dean waits on him patiently.

“I didn’t see you,” Seth says at last, a little quieter, any ounce of bravado he had left gone.

Dean steps forward again and studies Seth, daring Seth with his eyes to stop him. “Didn’t think you did. Probably would’ve made a fuss.”

He sneaked into Seth's room with the intention of seeking answers, with the attention of hearing the truth. But when Seth doesn't move – doesn't deny the warmth closing in on him, Dean inches forwards until they're breathing the same air.

He reaches up to trace Seth’s jawline, but Seth has the awareness to slap his hand away before he can get there. Dean just smirks at the tiny reaction. The slap isn’t hard and he doesn't suppose it was meant to be.

Dean knows he’s getting to Seth just like Seth got to him.

Maybe a good fuck was still on the table after all, and maybe what he saw between Seth and Kevin earlier tonight meant nothing at all.

Maybe it doesn't – _could never_ – compare to what he and Seth had.

“What do you want, Dean?” It's low, barely above a whisper, but it doesn't matter with their proximity – Dean can still hear the rasp, the uncertainty, in his voice crystal clear.

Dean draws closer.

“You.”

Just like that.

And this is either going to end up being really, really good or really, really bad, but Dean can't even pretend to give a damn right now because Seth is in front of him gulping down another breath, _trembling_ , with his eyes lidded like he's knows that he's about to make the same mistake he made when he agreed to go out for drinks with Dean three years ago.

“I don’t…I don’t understand you sometimes,” Seth breathes. “I left you. Why are you still doing this?”

He considers asking Seth what he thinks he's doing, if Seth thinks this is still just a game to him, but Dean just braces his hands on the sill around Seth, trapping him instead. He never brings his body forward, never fully closes the space between their chests.

He wants Seth to come to him.

“Yeah, _you_ left. I’m not done with you yet.” It's almost sounds like a growl, guttural and hungry and urgent. Dean's past being sorry about it.

Seth doesn’t respond. He's close enough to taste the alcohol on Dean's breath from hours ago, the leather from his long-discarded jacket. Dean's close enough to feel the brush of the soft cotton material of Seth's shirt against his own skin, the heat emanating from his body.

It'd almost be enough if they stopped now.

Dean licks his bottom lip. Seth bites his.

“What? So now you’re at a loss for words?”

Seth lets out a shaky sigh. “Dean-”

“Tell me something, Seth,” he drawls out, because he doesn't want _almost_ , doesn't want to be second-best, doesn't want to be anyone other than Seth's. “Does it feel like this with him?”

Neither have to say it, but they both understand.

The electricity, the intensity, the history...is it the same with Kevin?

Another long pause. Dean looks at Seth with an unrelenting gaze, an unwavering curiosity.

“No-” Seth admits, with the audacity to look away. 

Dean goes to touch him on the stomach, to spread his hands on the hard muscles so warm and so familiar, but Seth tenses before his fingertips can reach him. Something is different in the way Seth’s body is responding to his hands and Dean doesn’t know why.

Maybe it’s the time apart, the time with other people.

“But-”

Dean comes to a complete halt at the word. When Seth turns back to him, there’s an uncertainty now in Seth's eyes. He's shrinking back, retreating.

“But what?” 

When Seth takes his time answering again, Dean decides he's too impatient for it and leans in to the crook of Seth's neck, to kiss him, to mark him, to keep him for good.

But he's stopped by the feeling of Seth's fingers on his wrists. The grip is firm, but not harsh.

Dean looks up, startled at the interruption, surprised that Seth would stop it.

“But maybe it doesn’t have to.”

Dean pulls back, not really understanding what Seth means. He's never stopped before.

“You should go, Dean.” His voice is still shaky, but he lets go of Dean's wrist and gives a vague gesture towards the door.

Seth places his hands on Dean's chest to hold him back, to keep the distance between them probably, but Dean can't deny that he still feels a rush of warmth coursing through his body from the touch. And Dean can't be imagining all the tension in the air because Seth's the one whose eyes flicker down to Dean's chest and abruptly pulls away.

“I don't get-” Dean starts.

“I’m with someone” Seth starts slowly. It sounds a little like pity, maybe some sadness. “And this won't make sense at all, but I like him. You can’t- _We_ can’t do this anymore.”

He wants to ask why not, but he knows what Seth is really saying.

_ We can't keep doing this to ourselves or to each other. It's not fair to anyone. We have to let go. _

Seth is finally being honest with him, and Dean fucking hates it.

Dean takes a few steps back, until he hits the edge of the bed. The quiet is surprisingly comforting right now and Dean starts to wonder where he was when all this happened. How he had been so consumed with dealing with the Wyatts, with _fighting_ Seth, with hating himself that he missed this.

Dean glances up at Seth, with his lips tight, posture straight, arms crossed again – with the barriers back up – and Dean realizes that maybe the truth is more complicated than he thought. He immediately regrets the next words to come out of his mouth. 

“It’s getting serious, isn’t it?” His lips are dry and it comes out like a pained croak.

“It isn’t…it’s not…” Seth fumbles with his words because it’s difficult to explain and it's obvious that he doesn’t even know what they are. He doesn’t know what he wants them to be yet.

And the worst part of it is that Dean sees it in Seth's eyes, in his body language. Dean _gets_ it.

Seth's afraid. Afraid of what he and Seth still are, afraid of how he could still affect Seth so much...But even more afraid of the prospect of losing Kevin because of those things.

Dean has his answers, even if Seth never explicitly said them to him. They ruled the world – as friends, as lovers, as enemies – always with each other. 

But it's not enough anymore. He's not enough anymore.

The dull ache in his head is slowly becoming a steady pounding and when Dean swallows the lump in the back of his throat, it tastes a lot like bitterness.

“He’ll be back soon.” Seth lets out another heavy sigh, hands hugging himself tight. “You should go.”

This time, the words, the way Seth murmurs it – all vulnerable and soft and _sorry_ – sober him up. Dean shuffles silently towards the door while Seth turns to stare out the balcony window as if he doesn't want to watch Dean go, doesn't want to live with the decision he's made.

Dean's hand is on the door handle when he stops. 

“Do you really want me to?” His voice sounds more broken, more wrecked than even three cases of beer have ever been able to, but he pushes forward. Because he needs to know that he's not the only one thinking that there's something still there between them, that the way Seth's voice falters when Dean smirks and the way he bites his lip when Dean steps closer have nothing to do with someone else. “Are we done?”

Seth never turns around, but Dean doesn’t stay long enough – doesn't _want_ to stay long enough – to hear the answer to either questio n, to hear the sound of silence.

**Author's Note:**

> There's supposed to be a Kevin/Seth follow-up to this. However, I wanna be upfront and say that my attention has been elsewhere, so it might be a while before you see it. Anyway, thanks for reading and feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
